


in medias res

by shipmateee



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: M/M, basically just pwp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 04:10:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipmateee/pseuds/shipmateee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Patience has it's own reward," Ethan says, voice low against the shell of Brandt's ear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in medias res

**Author's Note:**

> fill for a prompt on one of the mi4 kink memes. i say a prompt, but really i mean my prompt. yes, i filled my own prompt, what of it. it's basically just pwp by the way (but isn't it always with me?)

"–Yeah, just like that–" Ethan murmurs hotly against Brandt’s ear. Brandt feels overheated and shivery, gasping with every movement, and he keens when Ethan’s teeth scrape under his jaw.

Brandt’s breath hitches when the hand on his leg gently smoothes upwards. The muscles in his thigh tremble as Ethan carefully splays his fingers out, thumb rubbing slow circles against the vulnerable skin.

Brandt feels his thumb press down, just once, and it feels hot and searing like a brand.

A wounded noise escapes him as Ethan abruptly hitches his leg a little higher, slides in a little deeper, angles his hips a little sharper and suddenly Brandt's fisting the sheets and–

" _Fuck_."

Ethan, the absolute bastard that he is, just laughs, and continues to roll his hips slowly, deliberately, _torturously_.

"Feel free to go any slower– _ah_!" Brandt just manages to bite out.

His comment does not give the desired effect. In fact, it fails to help in any way at all because Ethan’s hips start to thrust at an achingly slow pace, and what the fuck, this is _not okay_.

Ethan’s movement slows to nearly nothing and eventually his hips still.

Brandt struggles not to whimper pathetically.

Ethan trails his hand away from Brandt's hip almost tentatively, slipping his arm above Brandt’s head.

He feels Ethan's fingers tangle with his own.

 _Oh_.

And suddenly Brandt feels vulnerable and exposed and it feels like his stomach just dropped out.

Ethan briefly squeezes his fingers.

"Patience has it's own reward," Ethan says, voice low against the shell of Brandt's ear.

And _god damn it_ , Brandt can just _feel_ Ethan's smile against his skin.

Brandt wants to laugh manically – _incredulously_ – at this, but he doesn’t nearly have enough energy left for that.

Instead he gasps out, "Are you–fucking–kidding me?"

"Well, I'm definitely fucking you, that's for sure."

Brandt wants to hit him.

He says, " _That wasn't even the question_."

He thinks _fucking move god dammit you insane person_.

Ethan lets out a bright laugh and starts to pick up the pace again. Brandt rolls his hips back against every thrust and he’s winding up again, he’s almost there and––

Ethan’s stopped.

Again.

Brandt feels like screaming.

Ethan leans up over him, and the movement causes him to shift inside and Brandt tilts his head back against the sheets and makes a small sound in the back of his throat.

Ethan’s eyes flicker and darken considerably and he reaches a hand up, thumb brushing against Brandt’s cheekbone.

"You need to relax, let go of all that tension."

Brandt huffs out a laugh, tangles his fingers in Ethan’s hair to drag him forward.

“You’re the _cause_ of my tension.”

He leans up and kisses Ethan before he can protest, catching Ethan’s lower lip between his teeth and biting a little. Ethan groans, and tugs Brandt’s head back, licks into his mouth.

Brandt moans and snaps his hips up, cock trapped against Ethan’s stomach, nowhere near enough friction for him to get off.

“Please, can you just–– _please_ ,” he breathes against Ethan’s lips, not even sure what he’s asking for.

“Yeah–yeah, okay,” and _finally_ Ethan seems just as frazzled as he is.

Ethan strokes his thumb across Brandt’s soothingly and his hips start to thrust deep and hard and perfect.

Brandt reaches down to fist his cock but Ethan knocks his hand away, hand sliding down and expertly twisting and oh shit fuck.

“I’m not–I can’t–” Brandt sobs.

“Shh, you’re fine, it’s fine,” Ethan murmurs into his hair, hips snapping forward almost this side of too rough.

Brandt feels too high-strung, like he’s about to tip over the edge, and he’s making these gaspy little sounds he’s never heard himself make before.

Ethan bites down on his shoulder, flicks his wrist and Brandt comes with a shout.

He clenches down around Ethan in the aftershocks and Ethan lets out a broken moan. He thrusts once, twice and Brandt whines from the oversensitivity.

Ethan grinds into him and comes with a low groan, pressing his forehead against Brandt’s.

“Feeling less stressed?” Ethan pants after a while, smile working it’s way across his face.

Brandt tries to shove him off but only ends up weakly patting his shoulder.

Ethan laughs and squeezes his fingers.

Brandt frowns, but eventually squeezes back anyway.

 _He is so fucked_.


End file.
